


Tank

by crazylittleelf



Category: Fringe
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-02
Updated: 2009-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/crazylittleelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Olivia play games (again).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tank

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink_bingo prompt: caged/confined.

It's become something of a habit, this thing we do.  Peter ties off my arm, slides the needle into my vein and shoots the drugs into me.  We're not oblivious to that metaphor.  It's fairly apt considering what we do after.  I think Peter's mixing the drugs differently than Walter did, but this, what Peter and I do now is good in it's own way.  Some couples play at bondage games, we shoot each other up with hallucinogens and try to crawl in each other heads.

It's not just the drugs, although the drugs are good.  It's that I figured out that I like that stupid tank.  Quite a lot, actually.  The darkness, the sense of enclosure are comforting, erotic.  There's a feeling of being trapped but the lethargy of the drugs make entrapment welcome.  If I stretch my arms out I can just brush the sides of the tank, remind myself where I am.  I drift and things become disjointed, but I never really forget the tank.  It's not like before when I lost my sense of where I was.

He doesn't like the tank.  Rather, he doesn't like being in the tank.  He says it feels like being buried.  He likes watching, though, being outside and knowing that the only thing that registers for me is the sound of his voice, the feel of the tank.  I like the way his voice echoes inside, familiar and foreign at the same time.  He likes the way my voice echoes when I come.

At first he told me how to touch myself and I would bring myself off in the tank while he watched, the little cameras relaying video to the monitors outside.  Now I don't even need that.  The drugs take hold and he tells me what to feel.  I follow his voice and it makes me flush, makes me throb.  My nerves sing and I shudder.  He tells me where I am, reminds me and the tank closes around me and I swear I can feel the metal on my skin, feel the weight of the doors and the weight of his voice and I shatter.

When he pulls me out, still twitchy and tripping, he slams the doors shut and fucks me against the tank.  The contrast between the cold metal at my back and his hot skin against my chest, between my legs makes me dizzy.  Without the distortion of the speakers, the echoes of the tank, his voice is nearly painful, feels rough in my ears.  He licks the saltwater from my face, pins me against the tank and I come again, come at the hot spill of him inside me, come at the way his voice breaks on my name.

He cuddles me at the foot of the tank, wrapped in towels and his arms, skin sticky fro the salt.  He waits for me to come down, strokes my wet hair until my eyes focus again.  Later, in my bed, I'll ride him slowly, try to describe how it feels when he fucks me in the tank without even touching me.


End file.
